


Halloween

by LadyAJ_13



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels and Demons, Attempt at Humor, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, M/M, My Britishness is showing, Why can't the tag be spelt 'humour'?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-29 18:06:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19405444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAJ_13/pseuds/LadyAJ_13
Summary: It's Halloween night, and Aziraphale and Crowley are heading out and about.





	Halloween

**Author's Note:**

> I first published this on Fanfiction.net back in 2007... showing my age a bit there! Rediscovered it after watching the TV show (I'd actually forgotten about it completely) and realised I still quite liked it. Very Odd.
> 
> As such, totally based on the book characterisation. I've been through it to tidy it up a bit, but made no changes to bring in TV canon.

"Every year! Every bloody year, Aziraphale!"

The book-hoarding angel looked slightly hurt by his counterpart's outburst. "Well I already have the outfit,” he explained. “And it is a rather convincing one."

"But it's not the point! You're meant to dress as something scary, something that you are _not_ in everyday life!" Crowley resumed his pacing around the small area of floor space not covered in towering heaps of books. He nimbly dodged a falling tome dislodged by an errant elbow. Aziraphale stopped its descent and replaced it on the pile.

"I seem to remember you turning up as a demon before, Crowley," he remarked absently. Crowley glared from behind his sunglasses. He hadn't thought the angel would remember that time in 1979.

"Well _technically_ , I am a fallen angel, rather than demon stock," he replied, smug with the loophole. Aziraphale gave him a look that somehow encapsulated (with nothing more than an narrowing of the eyes) tightly folded arms, tapping feet and an audible 'tut'. Crowley scowled; only a few thousand years in his presence, and the angel was beginning to use his own tricks against him. It wasn't on.

"I don't see why you have to go anyway," continued the angel, ignoring the silently fuming demon – sorry – fallen angel. "I would have thought the entire holiday of Halloween; commercialised and celebrating wickedness, is evil enough without an actual demon presence."

"Well it's not in the job description," began Crowley-

"I would have thought not, considering trick or treating only began in America in the 20th century."

"-Must you be a walking encyclopaedia? _But,_ it helps me fill my quota of turned souls. It's ridiculously easy on Halloween... “ he sighed happily, ticking off on his fingers: “lots of greedy kids, irate house-owners, worried parents… it's almost too easy to provoke arguments and violence that filter through all life. They'll be picking up the threads of Halloween arguments at Christmas.” He peered through his sunglasses. “You don't have to come, angel."

"With you corrupting the suburbs? I think I do," replied Aziraphale, shifting a pile of paperbacks so they hid the till more effectively.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Crowley drawled, slumping into an armchair that appeared from nowhere, “if you think the suburbs need me for corruption.” He smiled a reptilian smirk, draped over sleek black leather that looked wildly out of place in the cluttered shop. With a wave of his hand, Aziraphale re-upholstered it. In a charming plaid fabric. The demon rolled his eyes, stood up again, and vanished the chair without a word.

"Alright, fine. I'll pick you up at five, angel." He swept out of the shop without waiting for a reply, which was probably a good idea, considering Aziraphale had unearthed an ancient teapot and was engrossed in making a cuppa.

–

Five o'clock arrived, as time is wont to do. It found Aziraphale in his bedroom, tugging nervously at his white robe. He had unfolded his wings, and fashioned a halo out of tinsel and wire: all in all, he looked very nativity-angelic. Just right. The rumbling purr of a car drawing up drifted easily through windows that hadn't been replaced in several hundred years, the glass only still in one piece through it's sheer effort at the atomic level. With one last tweak to his halo, Aziraphale went downstairs1.

He slid into the passenger seat of the Bentley, begged, borrowed and stolen from an American diplomat by the demon. It was almost identical to the original, down to the fact that no cassette remained the way it was published. This one was worse however. Handel, Bach and even 'Best of Queen' automatically metamorphosed into 'Westlife – The Greatest Hits: Volume 1' after two weeks. Aziraphale generally ignored the dubious origin of the vehicle in favour of being able to travel in comfort and style.

He glanced at the demon next to him. Apparently Crowley had taken Aziraphale's comment and ignored it – he was dressed as a demon, almost like the devil himself2, complete with red cloak, red and black waistcoat, tight black trousers, pointy boots, and red horns, as well as the ever-present sunglasses. He looked good, thought Aziraphale, and then quickly dismissed it. Of course he did. Crowley was a demon, after all, creatures renowned for always being stylish3. He was quite pleased that they matched though. Only for the symmetry, of course.

The Bentley pulled up in a quiet, middle class neighbourhood in Surrey. This was one advantage of getting a lift with Crowley, mused Aziraphale. He didn't have to search the country for increased demonic activity, just follow his friend.

"This way," said Crowley, striding away from the car towards a field. Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder at the groups of children in costume, ringing doorbells, and jogged after the demon heading in the opposite direction. They reached the hedge, which Crowley threatened until it bent back on itself, creating a gap just big enough for one occult and one ethereal being to pass though. Aziraphale muttered a comforting word to the hawthorn, but couldn't help feeling slightly suspicious. Surely Crowley's grand plans for the evening had not been to frighten the hedgerows of southern England.

He was right. "Okay. Take it off."

Aziraphale merely stared at his companion of the past few millennia. He knew they had become closer after averting the Apocalypse, but this was a little too – uh - _friendly_. "Crowley-" he stuttered, "I really don't think-"

"Oh come on, Aziraphale! Take the goddam dress off!" Crowley began unbuttoning his waistcoat, revealing the red silk shirt underneath. Aziraphale flushed almost the same colour.

"If you don't start undressing, angel, I'm gonna do it for you," added Crowley, pulling off a boot. "If you don't get a bloody move on we're going to freeze in this field."

"That's technically impossible," Aziraphale managed to squeeze out.

"But I am a hot-blooded creature, Zira, so a field in an English autumn is not my preferred place for stripping."

"Then why here?"

To the angel's surprise, Crowley laughed. "I'm thinking off the kids, Zira. Don't want to scar them for life. You must be rubbing off on me."

Was it his imagination, or had Crowley emphasised that last phrase? Aziraphale was startled out of his reflection by the feeling of hands tugging on his hair. Crowley, he realised, was muttering to himself, "get rid of that…honestly, couldn't you have found something more realistic?...Tinsel?...I thought you said that was demonic anyway, 'cause it's always in knots when you come to put it up…" He didn't appear to want a reply. Aziraphale stood frozen as his friend absently smoothed a golden curl back into place, but the feeling of frigid October air snapped him back to reality.

He yanked his robe closed, gaping like a fish at his demonic counterpart. "Crowley," he gasped, trying to ignore the sight of his 6,000 year old friend in nothing but a pair of tight trousers, "we can't! There must be some sort of rule, or – or – something!" The angel was now whispering shrilly, despite the complete absence of life in the field. Crowley cocked his head, confused.

"Well I know it's a bit odd, but it is Halloween! They're not gonna think anything of it," he reasoned. Aziraphale resumed his fish impression. "It's not like they're gonna make you fall for it! Live a little, angel."

Crowley's face had hardened at not getting his own way. Aziraphale noticed, and snapped, "just get dressed, Crowley."

"That is what I was trying to do," he replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Only someone won't take his off!" Crowley shivered slightly4, and Aziraphale softened.

"I'm just not sure it's right, Crowley," he began, his voice so understanding it veered on the edge of patronising. "It's not just me I'm worried about, I'm sure Lucifer would have something to say, and I couldn't stand you getting hurt. We're walking on thin ice anyway with the Arrangement, especially after the Apocalypse."

Crowley sighed, annoyed. "Not that I'm not glad you care about me, angel, but I can't see the big man downstairs getting involved over a Halloween costume."

Aziraphale had moved from goldfish to guppy impersonations. "Halloween costume," he echoed steadily.

"Yeah. Switching costumes, mixing it up a bit this year. To be honest, I wouldn't mind playing at being an angel for the night." Crowley looked ever so slightly wistful, and Aziraphale was strongly reminded that it was around this time in the year that he fell. Of course, that was before calendars were invented.

"Why, what did you think I meant?" Aziraphale flushed brightly, visible even by the weak moonlight. Crowley grinned as understanding dawned. "Oh, I see," he smirked. "Well there may be time for that later as well, angel. I must admit, I quite fancy the idea of you in a devil's outfit…"

The demon spun on his heel and headed towards the hedge. Aziraphale quickly gathered the rest of Crowley's clothes, heart jumping as the fallen angel looked back over his shoulder, and beckoned lazily with his trident. Aziraphale quickened his step.

  
  


  
  


  
  


1Contrary to popular belief, angels don't actually have halos. However, after nearly fifty years of six year olds asking if he had lost it, Aziraphale had relented and made his own.

2At least, the human view of the devil. People always seem to forget that he is of angelic descent. He actually bears a passing resemblance to Aziraphale, only without the tweed.

3Quite why this impression has been formed is unclear. Many demons have even less fashion sense than Aziraphale. Sweatshops are demonic inventions.

4And probably unnecessarily, but never say a demon can't work the sympathy vote.

**Author's Note:**

> How amazing is the ability to add footnotes? Every time I think AO3 is perfect it adds extra functionality (or I discover extra, one or the other). Many kudos to the archive's coders.


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